


Foxglove

by wvwv



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:09:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24460342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wvwv/pseuds/wvwv
Summary: Harrowhark spies on her cavalier (for strictly professional reasons) as she interacts with the Seventh House necromancer.This has absolutely nothing to do with concepts such as "jealousy" or "possessiveness," which are completely beneath her and also ludicrous. Obviously.
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Dulcinea Septimus, Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Kudos: 80





	Foxglove

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the plants, which have long stems and drooping blossoms. They are also super poisonous.

“And _then_ she said that she couldn’t marry him because she was already in love with someone else, but their parents have basically decided that the future of their kingdoms rests entirely on this marriage and they won’t stop feuding for any other reason, so he throws himself onto the ground at her feet and gives this huge speech and it’s delightfully over-the-top! I just love situations like this—where everything is so high stakes but for a completely avoidable problem. There’s something so _dramatic_ about it!”

Harrowhark was feeling about ready to do something _dramatic_ about a completely avoidable problem as she lurked in the shadows of one of the large stone archways that led into Canaan House’s chaotic, decomposing jungle of a garden. Even in the shade, the air was uncomfortably hot and sticky, and Harrowhark worried that the painstaking details she’d painted on her face would be smudged.

Harrow’s traitorous, idiot cavalier was standing sentry by the dying Seventh adept, holding aloft a wafer-thin umbrella and considerately placing herself within easy killing distance for their enemy. Gideon was staring rapturously into Septimus’ eyes like she wasn’t nattering on about something as inconsequential and pointless as the plot of a romance novel.

Gideon’s instructions had been simple: keep to her fake vow of silence, stay out of Harrowhark’s way, and just generally avoid doing anything that would tip anyone off that there was something amiss with the Ninth House. She had at least been able to keep to the first two points thus far, but if she kept trailing after every single moron who glanced her way, eventually someone was going to look a little too closely. Harrowhark had only been keeping intermittent surveillance on Gideon, and even that was enough to see how much her wandering behaviour deviated from a real cavalier, especially one from the Ninth House. Gideon would have required much more strict observation, but Harrow had limited time between trying to single-handedly save her House from a slow, whimpering death.

Harrowhark had watched as Gideon cozied up to the overbearingly saccharine Fifth cavalier and the flashier necro of the Third House, conveniently zeroing in on—without any apparent awareness or effort—two of the three Houses that Harrow most wanted to avoid the attention of. Next, she expected Gideon to pick up the sharp-eyed Sixth cavalier as a sparring partner, or perhaps dutifully go about carrying books and old pieces of rock for Sextus.

Harrowhark hadn’t marked the Seventh House as any standout threat, but Gideon immediately jumping to obey her every whim had ratcheted up Harrow’s wariness significantly. The most frustrating part was, Harrow couldn't even see the _reason_ for this behaviour. Their entire lives, Gideon had been nothing but an argumentative, contrary menace, and the second she left the Ninth she became the perfect, obedient cavalier… to everyone but Harrow. Harrow knew if she brought up her suspicions regarding Septimus or her issues with Gideon’s behaviour towards her, Gideon would take offense and probably run straight back to the Seventh. All she could do was watch.

Across the garden, Gideon abruptly clenched her hand over her stomach. Harrowhark thrust her hand into her pocket and clutched a small collection of phalanges and metacarpals, prepared to launch them across at Septimus to sprout into fully formed constructs. _If she did anything to—_

Septimus’ laughter rang out over the yard before guttering out on a wet cough, and Gideon sheepishly rubbed the back of her neck, grinning. Harrowhark eased her death-grip on the finger bones but did not release them.

“Skipped lunch, did we?” Septimus said. “Why don’t you head down to the kitchens for something? Lunch will be over by now, but the servants will surely reheat something for you. Oh! Make sure you try one of the sweet rolls they made, as well—they must have some left over. I had several of them earlier; they’re delightful!”

Gideon hesitated, still holding the umbrella out over Septimus, marking the first time the idiot hadn’t leapt to obey one of her frivolous commands.

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Septimus said with a syrupy smile. “How about—hmm. Could I beg a favour?” At Gideon’s predictably eager nod, Septimus continued, pointing across the garden to a chair placed beneath a cluster of dried brown trees, “That chair over there is in the shade. I could stay there until Pro gets back, and you’d be free to eat. But I just don’t think I’m up to the task of walking over there by myself right now. Do you think you could carry me?” Another jerky nod from Gideon, because she was apparently physically incapable of turning down even the most ridiculous request.

Harrowhark nearly threw her metacarpals to intercept as Gideon dropped the umbrella and _picked Septimus up_. Was she a _total moron?!_ Gideon was so close that Septimus could kill her effortlessly—sending a sliver of bone through her eyes and into her brain, pulling the flesh from her chest until she bled out, rupturing her carotid artery for blood to gush down her neck—was this Septimus’ goal all along? Harrowhark wildly darted her eyes around, scanning for the slightest suspicious movement—though, really, what part of this _wasn’t_ suspicious?—heart hammering in her chest, frantically weighing the pros and cons of starting an interhouse war.

Harrow only started breathing again when Gideon set Septimus down on the shaded chair with more care than Harrow had ever seen from her.

Septimus unwound her frail arm from Gideon’s neck—which took her longer than strictly necessary—and settled herself on her new perch, arranging her clinging, gauzy skirts around her.

The new location was too distant for Harrowhark to hear what they said, but finally Gideon was leaving the Seventh adept alone. Harrowhark felt a moment of panic when she thought Gideon might exit the garden through the doorway that she was lurking in. She tried to calculate the likelihood of success—not good—if she ran down the hallway immediately to escape. Mercifully, Gideon picked a different hall to exit through.

Her interest in the Seventh heir dwindled now that her cav was free from her, so Harrowhark turned to head back off to the facility to continue her work—

“Reverend Daughter?”

Harrow’s veins turned to ice. Her breath stilled, as if that would help her now. How had she noticed? Harrow had barely moved and hadn’t made a sound for the whole sordid encounter.

Well, she had no choice now.

Harrowhark stepped out from behind the wall, careful to remain in the shade. She regretted not checking to make sure her veil was securely covering her eyes before coming into view, but she certainly wasn’t going to adjust it now, like an embarrassed, insecure child.

“Ah-hah! I thought it was you,” Septimus said triumphantly, baring her blood-edged teeth until her cheeks dimpled. She tilted her head like a snake picking the best angle from which to attack her prey. “Did you want to see me? Or did you just want to check on your cav? Don’t worry! I don’t intend to steal her from you! I just can’t resist asking little favours from her; she’s so helpful. You’re lucky to have her.”

Harrowhark found herself unable to conjure a response to this tirade, strangely transfixed by the woman’s obscene unpainted face, fragile purple veins branching under the thin white sheet of her skin. She never stopped moving—blinking her lurid blue eyes, stretching her lips into wide, smug smiles, tilting her head up, down, sideways.

“Focus on your own House, Lady Septimus,” Harrowhark said finally, in a manner she hoped sounded detached and disapproving. “Do not interfere with my cavalier.” She regretted the rhyme before she finished speaking, but she couldn’t take it back now.

“Of course,” Septimus said, far too easily. Harrowhark was going to have to watch her from now on. “She went off to the kitchens, if you were looking for her.”

Harrowhark nodded coldly and turned back to head for the facility. Gideon would likely be occupied in the kitchens for a while at least, so Harrow would have a brief window of time where she could focus on work without worrying that her idiot cav was about to get herself killed. She couldn’t afford to waste a single moment; the sooner she became a Lyctor, the sooner they could be done with this mess, the better.


End file.
